


Picasso and The Muse

by Pamphylia



Category: Original Work
Genre: Best discord talk ever lmfao, Comedy, Jared his name is Jared aka Seraphim he is cool he is my friend :))), Picasso : >:), Um. Tuchy lol., collab with my bro, no bully haha, ok love u, r u ok muse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pamphylia/pseuds/Pamphylia
Summary: Picasso decides to deny the inevitable.A cool collab with my friend Seraphim on discord!!!!Give my bro love or suffer by the hand of me.
Relationships: The Muse & Picasso Bellucci
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Picasso and The Muse

**Author's Note:**

> Picasso is Seraphims OC and The Muse | Satan is my OC!!
> 
> We worked p hard for this, hope u like it.
> 
> Don’t like don’t read lmao.

A bright light appeared in front of the gate, he clutched his only weapon and braced himself. Picasso asked, “Who are you?”, the light with long golden wings flapped lower and lower.

“A muse,” the light replied. Picasso gulped, “What kind of muse? What is your name?” 

“Satan,” the light replied, his eyes widened in surprise as he got his answer. He’s never met Satan before, and he’s certainly never thought he’d look like an angelic being, “What is the matter?” it asked, forming into a glowing, humanoid figure. It’s wings hide its face and feet. It’s robe golden and white, and the sword it carries holstered in its sheath, attached to its waist. Picasso answered, “Nothing. You seem awfully pure to be a muse,”

Satan only looked down and moved aside, forming a little smirk as the muse said, “Please, enter this realm, your final mission,” Picasso, mentally debating after a long while, finally took a couple of steps through the gate. Picasso’s stomach rumbled and he felt extremely tired, “Are you hungry?” 

“Yes,” 

Picasso held tightly onto the loaded shotgun in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the trembling of his fingertips, along with his somewhat blurry vision. Not only did he see Satan, he had that sand like dirt stuck in his eyes again. Wiping them off with one glove, he looked around again.

It wasn't overridden by demons from where he stood. But he wasn't stupid, if there was none here there would be millions somewhere else. 

The bright being, or, Satan, was still following behind him. It was a little creepy, but he knew better than saying it directly. 

“Fanculo la mia vita-" From the painful aching in his stomach from him not eating for weeks, he let the curses swing by his mouth. He felt the being look down at him. "If you are hungry, I can offer you food." 

The Italian's head rose up to look at the being, his eyes squinting and his body still tense.

"What can you offer me?"

Picasso stayed there, oblivious to what the so called Muse offered, “I don’t know,” he said, it’s not like Satan has anything to do with offering food. Unless he’s attempting to poison him, “You’ll poison me,”

“Poisoning is a lie taught by your kin,” Satan told him, “a simple misunderstanding” Picasso gave him an odd look, but replied, “Are you sure you won’t kill me?”

“Yes,” 

“Fine, Dragon Fruit then,” He asked, and the man’s arms were suddenly full of dragon fruit. He holstered his shotgun behind his back and sat down, eating a couple of them. Savoring the flavor and how amazingly sweet it was. At least it didn’t kill him by turning him to dust or anything. The Muse behind him watched him eat from a distance. Saying nothing but ruffling its feathers from its puffy wings. Picasso stopped eating to look at them. They said nothing to each other, but Picasso broke the silence.

"So, uh, why are you following me again?" 

Picasso wiped away a small portion of the dragon fruit that appeared on his lips and the stubble on his face, focusing on getting up as he held the outside of the fruit in his hand. The Muse stared at him for a solid second before focusing on talking. 

"I am only here to guide you through your last mission." It got closer to him, measuring his distance from the Italian soldier. Picasso gave him a tired, confused expression before wiping away all the dirt from his face. Well he can't really wash his face, he's in Hell. 

"Alright then, you're welcome to be a bit helpful to me...Uh..if you want to kill demons." He had to somewhat think on his words, this was Satan in front of him, not the regular scout. The Muse stayed silent again and watched as Picasso picked up his shotgun and tried to continue his way with small steps, being wary. 

Well, he knew how demons worked by now, he had been here for a pretty damn long time.

They walked for a long while, amongst the void, in what seems to be limbo. It looked like he was the only one in color, and it looked like Satan was the only one aglow. The rest of the “demons,” were black blobs, their eyes a stark white color and their hair spiky and long. He sweats a bit, but he keeps going. Picasso felt Satan’s flying body get closer to him, his large wings almost coming in contact with his back. As much as it weirded Picasso out, it didn’t, somehow. He turned around, Satan stopped, “What is wrong?”

“Those wings,” The Italian said, and Satan retracted it’s only useful wings. He never retracted the ones on his face and feet, “Yes? What is it about my wings?”

Picasso looked at their fluffiness, almost wanting to touch it, “Well, it’s just that, they look really-,” but Satan moved back and stayed there. That was new. Wow.

"-They look pretty soft. Is that a normal thing?" He couldn't help but let a smirk emerge from his face as he continued talking, still being completely wary of his surroundings from how his gun was ready to fire. The Muse was silent, but as Picasso walked, he followed behind slowly. Shooting at any of the demons that crawled their way towards him, or stomping on them, he silently wondered if this Muse felt any form of resentment from him killing these beings. After a short silence, Satan replied. 

"It is normal. I do hope I did not accidentally touch you, that would end badly." They were back at the same walking pace as Picasso carved his face to something similar to a confused smirk. "What? Will I die if I touch it or something?" Obviously he was joking around, but the Muse kept a serious tone. Though he couldn't see if he was smiling or not.

"Yes. That is a chance."

Picasso couldn’t help but grin like a madman when he said this, “Well, we’re in limbo. I highly doubt I’ll die,”. The Italian walked towards Satan, and Satan walked back, the muse becoming somewhat uncomfortable with the humans request. Satan spoke more firmly, “Don’t.” The man didn’t listen.

He was backed up to a wall, and The Muse couldn’t find the energy to fly, “You’ll die,” Satan intervened, still didn’t listen. Picasso snickered, his eyes reflecting the light coming out of him, “I bet they’re really soft,” he told the muse. Satan obviously couldn’t let him do this, or else his mission won’t go as normal as intended. 

“You humans and your curiosity, no wonder,” he said, then warning him, “You will die, you will be burnt to a crisp,” 

Picasso smirked at him, a smug attitude, “If I was going to be burnt to a crisp, hell shoulda done that a long time ago,” he claimed. Satan fell silent. 

"Yeah, that's what I thought." A chuckle left the man.

Picasso was staring up smiling by this point, obviously planning to touch one of his wings. Even if some of his front hair covered his green eyes, he looked determined to touch the Muse's wings at least once. 

"I am warning you, human. It's not a good decision." The Muse tried to warn him again, but to no avail. After a brief moment of both not moving and looking at each other, the feeling of a hand was on the Muse's large wing. It only took two seconds before Picasso pulled his hand back, the sound of sizzling coming from his wrist and the inside of his palm. It already melted through the leather glove, but only left a large burn scar where he grabbed it. The Muse moved itself back, keeping its wings away from him after he managed to grab a few feathers without his attention. 

"So it is soft!" A laugh erupted from the Italian man as he swung his hand with the humane way of trying to cool it down. The Muse let out a frustrated sigh, crossing his arms. "Was that really worth you burning your arm?" The somewhat disappointed tone met with the smug one.

"It definitely was worth it."

Satan scoffs.

**Author's Note:**

> Satan: hi.  
> Picasso: let me touch those wings.  
> Satan: no.


End file.
